


Concerning Crocodiles

by lost_spook



Series: 50 Ficlets - Claim Kenny Phillips, Press Gang [26]
Category: Press Gang
Genre: Angst, Community - 50ficlets, Episode Tag, Gen, post-There Are Crocodiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-02
Updated: 2010-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:59:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just another middle-of-the-night phone call - except this time it's Mrs Day with the worst news in the world.  (Kenny, post <i>There Are Crocodiles</i>).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concerning Crocodiles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ comm 50ficlets prompt 'bone deep'. Major spoilers for the final episode _There Are Crocodiles_. (Or possibly none at all...)

_Spike: "Is Kenny ever wrong about anything?"  
Lynda: "I know someone who says they saw it happen but I think they were just talking big."_ (S2, The Big Finish?)

*

The phone call came in the middle of the night, which was typical of Lynda, the only difference being that this time it was Mrs Day on the other end, and she must have been too upset either to work out the time difference, or to think it mattered.

Kenny knew what that had to mean. He wanted to put the phone down before she could say the words; it weighed heavy in his hold as he made himself wait for her to speak.

"I don't know how to say this," she said, on the other side of the world. "Kenny, it's Lynda. I should have waited, I suppose, but I thought -."

He slid the phone down against the front of his striped pyjama top, muffling the details of how and why in a dazed moment. When he put the receiver back to his ear, she was still speaking. "Kenny?"

"I'm here," he said, stupidly. "I'm – I mean – are you sure?"

"Yes." A sharper note entered her voice and then she softened again. "Kenny. I'm sorry. Is your mother there?"

He turned around to look; she was, standing in the hallway behind him. "Yes. Did you want to speak to her?"

"I think I'd better," she said, sounding more like the Mrs Day he remembered.

Kenny handed the phone over, glad to be rid of it. It had turned in his hand into something that bit, and it had sharp teeth.

*

Mrs Phillips took the phone, both curious and wary. Was it his Grandad? she wondered. They'd been worrying about him lately, but they'd have asked for her first had it been that. Kenny had disappeared back into his room without a word. "Oh, hello," Liz Phillips said, as she recognised the speaker, and couldn't help wondering what Lynda had done this time, before Mrs Day told her, and she sat on the seat by the phone without knowing how she had got there.

*

Kenny was back before she'd finished putting the phone down. She turned, unsure what she could say to him, but that concern was forgotten when she realised that he was dressed and had returned with a bag in his hand.

"Kenny, where do you think you're going?"

"Norbridge."

She sighed. "I understand, Kenny, but it's the middle of the night, and there's nothing you can do. I'm sorry -."

"Well, obviously, the airport first," he said, as if she hadn't spoken. "I'll get on the first flight I can find, and then I suppose it'll be a train the rest of the way."

She shook her head. "Kenny. This isn't going to help. I'm sorry to have to say this, but it's too late to change anything. You might as well wait until a more civilised hour. Go back to bed, and we'll arrange everything in the morning. Come on, I know you'll be sensible."

He coloured, and didn't move. He had never been the rebellious type, to the point where she'd almost worried that there was something wrong with him. A couple of years back, while everyone else was complaining that their sons were playing loud rock music and causing trouble, hers was composing ballads in his room, and helping his Grandad about the house. Sometimes, though, he retreated into himself; sullen and immovable. This was one of those times, she saw, and her heart sank further.

"I have to go now."

"All right," she said, because he was grown up now, and she couldn't stop him. Besides, he and Lynda had been friends for the best part of both their lives and if this was how he needed to deal with it, she wouldn't stand in his way. She couldn't blame him. She found it hard enough to imagine someone as indomitable as Lynda Day being dead, and the story Mrs Day had given her – well. She swallowed. "If you must," she said. "Phone me and tell me when your flight is, and again as soon as you get there. I'll tell Grandad to expect you."

He nodded.

"Well," she said. "Did you remember to pack your toothbrush? You've got your passport?"

He bit his lip, and nodded again.

*

On the plane, Kenny finally let himself think, closing his eyes and leaning back against the side by the window.

So, this was how it ended, was it? Thousands of miles apart with him not there after all those years of looking out for her, whether she wanted him to or not. Only a couple months more, and he'd have been back home anyway. Typical Lynda, he thought. Middle of the night phone calls, and taking the _Junior Gazette_ with her as she went down in flames. Bloody _typical_ Lynda. Stupid and dramatic and unnecessary. ( _Ding dong, the witch is dead, in a puff of smoke, and there's not much Jiminy Cricket can do about it._ )

It was stupid and tragic, and unnecessary, and wrong, and he'd lost the best friend he'd ever had, or ever would have.

That wasn't what was bothering him. That wasn't what had made him get on a plane without stopping for anything else.

He heaved a sigh, because she must have made him crazier than he'd realised: Kenny didn't believe it for one minute. Lynda Day wasn't dead. Not like this.

If it hadn't been Mrs Day who'd told him, he would have laughed down the line at the news. He didn't know if that made him mad for believing in her over and above the evidence, or the world had turned insane enough to let it happen, and he was about to be proved wrong.

Maybe it was shock, or denial, like they always warned you about, but he _knew_ Lynda wasn't dead. It wasn't the end, not yet, and he wasn't broken by the news: he was as mad as fire that she had pulled off a stunt like this.

Lynda, he thought, you'd better have a _bloody_ good excuse.

*

Kenny wasn't stupid, but sometimes he had trouble believing in crocodiles.


End file.
